


In a Relative Way

by bold_seer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, The Time Stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:37:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: “The Time Stone may have - knocked me up. And bymay have, I mean it did.”





	In a Relative Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



> _Time kills everything. (...) Time is an insult. Death is an insult._
> 
> \- Kaecilius
> 
> _Worlds without end. Some benevolent and life-giving, others filled with malice and hunger. (...) Who are you in this vast multiverse, Mr Strange?_
> 
> \- TAO

{the lake}

This is too early, or they are. Stephen stands on the empty shore, looking out over the lake. The Cloak clings to his shoulders, its presence warm and heavy. Electric, as though it senses the anticipation. Surface tension. Tension in Stephen’s body, so deep in his muscles that a year of yoga won’t help. They’re waiting for something to rise. Some primordial creature. The lake is covered by a fog, but there, in the midst of it, he catches a glimpse of _something_. A vision. It’s strange and beautiful and lonely and rare, a moment that escapes words. Stephen finds himself shaken by what he’s witnessed. Shivers and chills.

There’s the door. The Cloak pushes him in that direction. Maybe it’s cold. All right. Stephen steps through, into the New York Sanctum. Home.

**

{the stone}

The Time Stone is always there, with him, _on_ him, but nothing has ever happened. No paradoxes, no accidental traps in time. Stephen assumes - which is probably a reckless assumption - that he understands what will and what won’t. That a man can come to know an object, _this_ object, tied to existence. Wear cosmic power around his neck, as if it were a charm. It falls on his stomach, the familiar weight of the Eye of Agamotto pressing against his body. He touches it unheedingly, without real purpose. Scarred fingers finding their way to the gem, now and then. The Stone emits warm, steady pulses of light.

It’s - not the weirdest thing he’s experienced. But then, Stephen has been knocked out of his physical body. Dragged through this universe and others, through time and space. Infinite possibilities.

**

{an appetite}

“You’ve changed,” says Wong sharply, back from Hong Kong, no less blunt than before.

 _Try throwing up everything you eat_ , thinks Stephen. _Bet you’ll look peaky._ He is growing tired of the constant nausea and fatigue. Won’t leave him alone, as if he needs to rid himself of something. In the mirror, he looks drawn and ill. A little like the man after the accident, who knew too well what he’d lost. Not what he would gain.

“Missed you, too.” Stephen spots a conveniently placed chair, sits down. There are many chairs at the Sanctum, many more than there are visitors. “The door handle is still loose. We’re out of everything.” Any other changes? He thinks. Thinks of nothing. “I’m still me.” It tastes like a lie. His throat is raspy. Did he stop being himself, when he absorbed millions of futures? Traces of them live inside him. Haunting the corners of his mind, when he turns around. Long shadows. Invisible.

Stephen dreams about operating, sometimes. Millions of actions he never performed. That no one ever did. Then he wakes up, thinking he wants his life back. His old life. He doesn’t know what that life would be like, or where he would find it. Life before _what_. How he’d fit in there. How it could conform to his current understanding of existence. The keyhole, when the walls are coming down. Something else being built. Stephen has a different purpose now.

Peaceably, he adds, “Found some English pounds.” Little discoveries made while cleaning. Unexpected joys in life. “Enough to buy you anything else than a tuna melt.”

“Fish and chips.” Wong sounds tempted, practically salivating already. You’d think Hong Kong offered better culinary experiences than the UK. Maybe not.

Mushy peas, greasy food, the thought makes Stephen queasy. It’s nice to have company again, though. Wong to bicker with. Grumpy. (Does that make him Doc? Sleepy, probably. Pre-dinner naps, a newfound pleasure. After dinner. Skipping the meal for sleep?) Other company than an article of clothing, loyal companion though it is. The Cloak never leaves Stephen’s side for too long, but lately, it’s been unusually fussy. Wouldn’t let him do half the household chores he meant to.

This is his life now. Neat, multidimensional package: life and work.

**

{the body}

Stephen was once a vain man, who swanned around at black tie affairs. He’s reminded of that, as he considers his naked body with a critical eye. Pale, lean muscle. Blue, visible veins. More scars than before. His body betrays nothing else, nothing of what it holds, which is _something_. Magic potential. All his knowledge. Stephen could walk out on the street (wearing more clothes, jeans and a hoodie), and no one would blink. He’s not Tony Stark, or Steve Rogers. His fame was fleeting. His mind, which is in his body, knows things nobody else does. Somewhere locked inside him is the truth, millions of alternatives. Out of sight.

He buries things inside himself, where they take root and grow. Branches and new leaves. New person.

**

{weight of}

Wong continues to watch over him, whatever he does. A tense frown shadowing his face, when he thinks Stephen doesn’t notice. Stephen should be annoyed. He’s been doing magic for years, by now. He doesn’t need looking after.

The truth is, Stephen doesn’t feel like himself either. Cramps in his legs, instead of his hands. At night, when he actually tries to sleep. He is still fatigued. Nauseous. Stress and overworking himself seem like obvious explanations, but as a (former) surgeon, he should be used to both. Admitting anything is the matter would feel like defeat. An indication that Stephen isn’t cut out for this life. He carries on, despite the difficulties.

Sometimes he wonders. Could these strange, new sensations belong to someone else? Their sense memory, in his physical space. 

**

{appetite - two}

Stephen wakes up, hot and flushed and hard. Needy. His body burning with desire. Throbbing, shaking with it. The next day, and the next. He doubts he’s been this aroused in his _life_. It’s as though his celibacy and relative lack of human contact have suddenly manifested as this overwhelming, undeniable urge. He wants someone, anyone to touch him. Put their hands on him. In him. Just, anywhere. He’s not far off from begging _Wong_ to do something about it. This is most certainly a new low.

The first time, he pretends nothing is out of the ordinary, but studiously avoids looking Wong in the eye. During the entire day. The second time, he stops pretending, and slinks out to a coffee shop, where he spends hours surrounded by people he doesn’t know. Who know nothing about him, his circumstances. A temporary escape, because the third time - that’s when it hits him.

**

{revelations}

Stephen is a doctor, nothing’s going to change that. It’s who he is. How he presents himself to the world, even when he fights aliens. He’s not oblivious about the changes in his body. What the signs and symptoms point to, whether it’s possible or not. He improvises.

There it is, the undeniable evidence. Fruit-sized and glowing inside him on the Astral Plane.

He tumbles. Falls back into his bed. Lies there, staring at the ceiling. These are not happy news. No one to be pleased for him. Nothing to be pleased about. No explanation for his state.

The Cloak nudges him, not jealous in the least, but satisfied Stephen caught up. When it brushes lightly over his stomach, the thin fabric of his T-shirt, Stephen jumps at the contact. It’s too much. Butterflies in his stomach turn to panic in his throat. How is he getting out of this?

He could tell Wong, who knows by now that something is wrong. The years haven’t touched Stephen’s stubbornness. He has at least the fragments left of his pride, though he lacks the foundation. Right now, he feels exposed and embarrassed. Getting himself _knocked up_ seems like a pretty big mistake, even if it isn’t entirely his fault.

Yeah. No.

**

{expectations}

A man who knows everything. Has experienced, if not everything, a _lot_. Knows his body, its limits. (Does he? His own limits?) Can’t go on without more information.

He spends a frantic two nights at Kamar-Taj, searching for anything remotely useful. Scraps, writings in the margins. There must be something, _somewhere_. Unless this is a new level of miracle. Mysterious and knowing, clad in blue. Or, simply, smug. Sure, he’s special. Not _that_ special. Besides, male pregnancy isn’t really a - thing. On Earth, last he checked. But Stephen has been to space. He has seen things.

Something impregnated him. How. With _what_. Stephen can’t conceive. Conceive of this. An idea? Seed of thought, all right. Growing inside of him.

He stops, when the echoes of unpleasant memories become too loud. Looking for a cure when the damage is done. Hands that don’t work as they should, as they had. His body working in ways it shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Stephen has always been a pioneer, going where no one has before. Reaching not only medically, but magically unattainable heights. New life. Strange, new worlds. Stephen doesn’t only venture into that unmapped territory, he _is_ the canvas that absorbs the pigment. Lands unknown. His body, apparently.

**

{stone - two}

And yet. Stephen didn’t ask for this. He doesn’t want it. He really, really doesn’t.

He considers taking the Time Stone, holding it over his stomach. Reversing _this_ accident. But with magic, loop holes have loop holes. Could make him regurgitate the last thing he ate, when he’s left the nausea behind. How’s that for a reversal?

Stephen tries to peer into the future, his own future, _any_ future, but the Stone shows him nothing.

He doesn’t wear it around his neck anymore. Stephen is never going to tell him, but Stark had a point about throwing it in the garbage. It’s petty and solves nothing, but he is sorely tempted to. He glares at his stomach, accusingly. The Stone has its clutches on him. Frustrated, he makes a sudden, annoyed movement. Feels an unfamiliar pain in his pelvic region.

Is his slowly growing belly any part of what the Ancient One saw for him? Possibilities she wouldn’t reveal. Heavy potential.

**

{body - two}

If this were a regular pregnancy, which is a big _if_ , Stephen figures this would be the beginning of his second trimester. He looks normal, like himself, isn’t showing, but he leaves the belts off. It’s not that he’s gained a noticeable amount of weight, necessarily. Nonetheless, he feels oddly self-conscious and aware of his body, the way he rarely does about anything else than his hands. His stomach is sensitive to touch, tender like a bruise. He expects to see something, a gentle curve. Expects.

His legs tremble. Stephen hasn’t had a dizzy spell in weeks. Why now? Is this normal? Should he know these things? He’s a doctor. He’s pregnant. He finds the door. Wong is there, looking unusually concerned. Oh, there’s a wall. He’s sliding down. “Wong?”

“Stay on your feet,” Wong grunts, grabbing hold of Stephen with unexpected strength. Has Wong been working out? Stephen’s had other things on his mind, too wrapped up in himself to notice. Not that he wasn’t before. “You don’t have the energy to keep up a conversation, when you’re unconscious.”

Not in his condition, no. What does Wong suspect?

Without thinking any further, Stephen admits, “I’m in trouble.” It’s probably obvious. He breathes out. “In a world of trouble.” Here comes the judgment. “The Time Stone may have - knocked me up. And by _may have_ , I mean it did. There aren’t many other candidates.” Or any other candidates. He can pinpoint the moment, his best guess. How is this his life. How is this anyone’s life? “I’m pregnant.” Must be weird to hear that sentence from him. Weird to pronounce it.

Steadying him with one hand, Wong draws a magic circle on Stephen’s stomach with the other. It’s warm, tingly. “Hmm.” That’s all.

Not much of a reaction. “Aren’t you going to tell me I’ve been careless?” Stephen means to be sardonic. It’s a good defence, against anything anyone could say. “Natural law. Natural, uh, child.” He glances at his midsection, covered by his robes. “Pretty unnatural.”

Wong looks at him, alert and focused. “Would that help you now?”

Probably not. No one likes a _told you so_ , no one less than Stephen. Least of all when the other guy might have a point. It’s too late now. Changing the fact. There’s something inside him. Worst hospital joke _ever_. The ghost of something. A shadow, a spirit? Pebble? Something monumental?

Stephen once wanted to know as much as possible. Knowledge was never a burden. Knowing more than anyone else equalled being better than anyone else, more prepared. His memory allowed him to remember everything, too. It changed on Titan. The amount of hypotheticals. See too much, know too much, experience everything. He didn’t mean it quite so literally.

“So, how do I solve -” Stephen gestures helplessly at himself. His belly, barely a bump.

“The source of your problem is the answer,” Wong states, serious as ever.

“The Stone?” Stephen pictures himself, waving it around, like an idiot, somewhere near his abdomen. Which got him into his current state. Another pregnancy, conceived in a different month? Heap on the medical miracles. His body, a vessel for greater powers.

Wong says nothing, as if he wants Stephen to get there in his own time. Right. Time. The actual tick-tock, months go by. That time. Can’t escape it. Can’t reach for it. Jump forward in real time. Yet Stephen managed to seize it, trapping that energy inside himself.

“You wait,” Wong tells him shortly. There’s an uncomfortable look of understanding on his face. Painful kindness, when he touches Stephen’s shoulder.

**

{revelations - two}

People prod at him. Stephen lies there. He thinks. Patient, that word. He has difficulty applying it to himself. Bad patient, doctors always are. Worse than that. Impatient.

For a perfectionist, someone who hates being wrong, Stephen has made a staggering amount of mistakes. Bringing one of his first fights into the Mirror Dimension was a mistake. No real consequences, he thought. What it said on the label. Stephen didn’t know what he was doing. Know magic. Didn’t really learn his lesson then either. He feels that now, is paying for it. Though not, he suspects, like Mordo thought he would. With his life. Only sort of.

 _Born for the Mystical Arts._ Focused on his hands, Stephen almost missed he had a natural instinct for it. Magic. Was he born for this, too? Bringing life into the world. It feels like some cosmic punishment, forcing Stephen into truly humbling himself. Surrendering to a something he can’t possibly control. Should he even try to?

Stephen values life, any life, but not like this. Something exists in him that shouldn’t. Theoretically, he could’ve performed abortions, if his speciality hadn’t been different. He’s a surgeon. There’s no sentiment. But he’s never had to consider what _he_ would do, in his personal life. With his own body in the crossfire.

The clock is ticking down towards something, but there’s still time for him to decide.

**

{expectations - two}

Stephen motions towards the bench. Brushes away two leaves, which circle in the air, before falling to the ground. He sits down. Wong remains standing.

His recent past has included more invasive, quasi-medical, mostly magical examinations. Worried whispers. Hushed voices. Awe. Is it? Could it be? People circling around him. A part of him expected novices jeering, pointing at him. No one has been unkind. Intentionally, anyway. There’s something about life, the potential, though most people would prefer not to conceive spontaneously. What a horror show, his life has become. The situation is uncomfortable. His body appears to matter more than his mind. Every implied expectation. Stephen is still trying to comprehend this unplanned (unwanted), impossible pregnancy happening at all. Happening _to_ him.

They don’t know any better, really. There are no magical prophecies, no plans for this. Stephen is not in immediate danger, that much he’s gathered. Neither is the world. Whatever grows inside him, this thing, a _child_ , isn’t a threat. To anyone other than himself, perhaps. Stephen’s body, forced to deal with something it was never meant to experience. Trauma. Minor trauma. Better than being trapped in a car, in the water. That was pointless damage.

“Stephen,” says Wong, interrupting his thoughts. He’s got his serious voice on, but when doesn’t he? “We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone. You’ve - carried the Stone, for some time. If it’s responsible for your condition, it would be best to let it proceed naturally. The Masters all agree.”

No one knows what’s going on, but they’d like Stephen to carry to term. For the novelty, because magicians are a curious breed. For inexplicable, mystical reasons they’ll get to later. The fate of the world may be at stake. Doctor Strange, you’d make an excellent surrogate for the universe. Or, if you prefer, a guinea pig.

Stephen notes Wong avoiding the word _pregnant_. Of all things to be bashful about. Talking around that, _this_. Blue robes hiding a big, little secret. (In a painting: a woman in blue, reading a letter. Loose clothing, suggestive of something. Hints, not a confirmation.) At some point, it’s going to be really difficult to circle around it. But Stephen is in a cranky mood, tired and unkind. Wong is trying his best, unusually careful with him. Whatever Stephen chooses to do, he’s fairly certain Wong will support him. Even if no one else does. Probably in that Wong way, actions over words.

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.” When is he supposed to get his energy back? Or that pregnancy glow? Shiny hair and lustrous skin. Stephen’s hair is only getting greyer, his complexion duller.

It’s unfair. It’s supposed to be a choice, planned happenstance. Desired end result. Predictable outcome. Really. He hasn’t even slept with anyone - in far longer than he cares to think about. And yet, Stephen is with child. Proof of something in his belly.

Responding to Stephen’s discomfort, the Cloak settles around him, cautiously. It wraps itself around his body, chivalrously protecting Stephen, and the child, from the slight chill. The gesture feels nice, the sensation comfortable. For the moment, Stephen is relatively contented.

He’ll give it time, the best he can do.

**

{weight - two}

Wong makes him lie down in his old room in Kamar-Taj. Some return, back where he started. As two instead of one. Wong says, “You need the rest.”

“For this.” Stephen jabs a finger at his belly, not without bitterness. He’s not saying it’s ruining his life, nothing that dramatic. He isn’t. Fine. Okay. Sometimes he is. His condition definitely rules his life. A child. What is he supposed to do with it? Him, her, a baby. In his profession. From saving lives to protecting existence, to picking a kid up from childcare? Interdimensional threats don’t follow a nine-to-five schedule, if they know time exists. What is he supposed to do?

Nurse in training, Wong pushes him back onto the bed, into a horizontal position. Gentle in a firm way, ignoring Stephen’s unspoken protests. “For your own sake.” The stern gaze trails Stephen’s body. “It’s draining you.”

It’s not an illness, Stephen wants to object, suddenly defensive. It’s a condition. The most natural condition in the world. People (mostly women, admittedly) fall pregnant and give birth, somewhere, every second, of every day. There’s nothing natural about the situation. His pregnancy. Its origin. That doesn’t make Stephen an invalid. Any more than he was.

“I’ll be back,” Wong informs him. Stephen wants to point out that he nailed the tone, but the shades are kind of crucial. Before he opens his mouth, Wong has left. Stephen’s mind and body feel heavy, but he fights against the sleep. Fights it. For once, he doesn’t slip out of his body. Trade existence for a lighter form.

Stephen holds a shaky hand to his stomach. Maybe there’s a slight swell, a hint of roundness already. In the vein of a gossip magazine: did he eat lunch, or is he expecting? He did. He is. Strange thought. Getting bigger, rounder, heavier, for _months_ to come. Until his robes, somewhat loose, are straining around his midriff. His condition unmistakable, tipping him over from a question into an exclamation mark. How strange is that going to be? Will he look obscene? Soft? His organs squeezed against each other, accommodating more and more growth, until his body can’t stretch anymore. In any direction. A balloon so full it could burst at any moment. Then it’s time.

He imagines it. _No man of woman born_ , neither _of_ nor _woman_. Loophole and the loop. Not funny. Bit funny. A source of worry, too. Whatever changes the Stone caused in his body, barring any eleventh-hour alterations, Stephen is still incapable of giving birth naturally. Of dealing with this on his own. His condition makes him particularly vulnerable, and yet, more accepting of help. Needing it. To get through this. See the child brought into the world - or not. Here? In a hospital? How is he going to explain - any of this.

Christine is, at least, unlikely to assume it’s hers. If Stephen considered the risk of becoming a parent, accidentally - as a med student and doctor - he never saw _this_ coming. But Christine doesn’t deserve his sarcasm and (apparently) unfunny sense of humour. Has escaped them already. He should tell her, though. At some point.

Stephen’s thoughts float towards Dormammu. Time, which brought him back. Instant rebirth, same body. Dormammu killed him, where he now holds life. Lungs and a heart, in development. (And if he gets there, if _they_ do, walking and talking. Be born as someone, grow into someone else. Shaped by experience, by Stephen’s.)

He endured. The pain. He endured. His loss of self. When there was nothing but darkness and five words. Five words that he repeated, his mantra. It kept him going, when he needed to go on. For some greater good. Fast forward. He looked into the future, every future, and he saw death. But there was also _life_ , which is where they ended up. He held onto it, dragging them there. This is that future. Here is where Stephen ended up. This present. For the worst joke - a gift.

There are many things in his life that Stephen never chose, though the consequences of his actions weren’t always this unpredictable. He chose his path, even if the Ancient One and Mordo and Wong laid it out for him. He could’ve walked away. He couldn’t. Because he _knew_ , even when he didn’t. If he didn’t grow into a better person, he did grow. Do no harm, do good. Do better than he did before. Better than he could, as a surgeon.

Perhaps, it isn’t fair. This, too, is his cross to bear. Another burden, heavy on his mind, the weight of the entire universe. In his body, but briefly.

Perhaps, it’s an opportunity, as well. A possibility that he should grab, with both hands, and not give up on. The ultimate test? It’s a great responsibility. Something of him, but its own being. Not about him, not really. Silence his ego, and let something else rise.

What if he wants it? He can hate every physical discomfort, but pain is familiar companion. He learnt to live with it, a long time ago. He can hate that nothing prepared him for a pregnancy, but Stephen takes to things. Fish to water, in the end. He can even dislike the stranger, getting more familiar. If it forces him to sleep on one side. Kicks around, when it grows. Presses on his bladder. Oh, joy.

Every pregnancy is unique. They don’t all end happily. Sometimes they should be ended. Stephen is the only person, that they know of, to go through _this_. End up pregnant by the Time Stone. Unprecedented. In their universe, and records go back a long time. Every other Master and Sorcerer Supreme seems to have been smart enough not to carry around an Infinity Stone. Experiment with it, touch it, without precautions. Great job. Happy accident. But this is a unique merger of science and magic. The process, the result, does he _want_ to put a stop to it? Sentiment, after all. Not about the obvious. Stephen still wants to know, experience, see things through. This is no exception.

There are two separate issues, Stephen decides. Giving birth, with help. Raising a child, on his own? With help? Determining one means nothing, yet, about the other. He has months to go, in this way. The greater part of nine months.

When he wakes up, Stephen thinks drowsily, he’s going to tell Wong. Let him figure out the necessary arrangements. Play nursemaid. _That’s_ funny.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: _Stephen Strange doing bad things to the space-time continuum (or the space- time continuum doing bad things to him)_ \+ _The infinity stones’ powers are weirder and less predictable than in canon_ \+ _being burdened with knowledge and the weight of the universe_ \+ mpreg


End file.
